


Shot for Shot

by orenjikitty



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: F/M, I really don't know, OOC?, but i'm calling it sniper's nest, crack ship, i dont know what the ship name is, or spider dragon, please dont hate me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-04
Updated: 2016-07-04
Packaged: 2018-07-19 23:40:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7382242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orenjikitty/pseuds/orenjikitty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Snipers are a proud lot. They are supposed to be quick and efficient. But what happens when there are two snipers on your team, both as proud as one another?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shot for Shot

**Author's Note:**

> written for Nova, who is my bad influence guild leader. SHAME *ding* Not beta'd

Widowmaker scoffed at the mercenaries. Useless imbeciles, all of them. Why her bosses hired them, she didn’t know. She could get in and out of that temple with time to spare.

The familiar hood and deep laughter of Reaper echoed in the halls, his mist form floating towards her. Widowmaker’s scowl deepened. “Looks like we’re working together again,” the masked man said, chuckling.

“Let’s hope it goes better than the time at the museum,” She bites out, making him laugh once more.

“Oh don’t worry, it will,” Reaper said pointing behind him. Widowmaker studied the man sitting down far away from the group, looking like he was in deep meditation. Judging by his clothing and his looks, he was Japanese. His bow sat on his lap, making her frown. “Hanzo Shimada. The so called ‘dragon lord’. Used to live there. Shouldn’t be a problem getting in. Getting out…”

The driver cut off what else Reaper had to say, Widowmaker letting out a small sigh of relief. Her helmet was charging, her venom mines loaded on her arm along with her grappling hook. She looked back at the other marksman, eyeing him up and down.

His clothing left him little protection. A well aimed shot right into his exposed shoulder would stop him before he could even get an arrow out of his quiver, she thought. The tattoo on his arm was intriguing to her, wondering if how much it hurt. How it felt…She saw him open his eyes, gripping the bow tightly. He glanced over at her, eyes moving slightly before turning away.

“10 seconds,” one of the henchmen said. Widowmaker nodded, grabbing her helmet and putting it on. The van stopped, all of them piling out. Widowmaker pulled herself up to the top of the roof, smirking as she looked at the area. Her helmet clicked into place, screens lighting up and highlighting all of the guards.

“27 guards accounted for. Most of them are in the temple itself,” she called out. “2 snipers in the courtyard, 2 in the back room, and one in the far ledge. 5 in the inner courtyard.” An arrow shot from behind her, into the back room, and thehighlights flicker off. She turned around to see the archer behind her, face stoic.

“25 guards,” he replies, notching another arrow. Widowmaker growls, helmet moving up. She fires blindly towards the temple, the sound of her sniper rifle echoing through the streets as the bullet connects with one of the snipers on the roof.

“24.” He looked behind her, giving her a small shrug as he jumped down from where they stood. He fired at the other sniper while in mid air, catching the edge of the gate, firing another arrow to take down the last of the guards in the courtyard.

“22,” Hanzo replied, small smirk on his face now. “We have no need for you and your toys, sniper.”

Widowmaker scoffed, lifting her rifle to her shoulder. “You think you can beat me with your arrows?”

Hanzo motioned to the courtyard, making Widowmaker clench her jaw. “4 to 1 so far.”

This was petty, her mind yelled at her. Don’t fall into an obvious trap. Her pride screamed otherwise. One shot. One kill. No tricks need. That is what she was programmed to do. What she was made to do.

And she was damn good at it.

She hopped down from her perch, aiming her grappling hook towards where the man stood proudly. They were near equal in height, making it easy for them to look eye to eye. “Kill more than me, little man, and I will buy you dinner.”

Hanzo laughed, running down the gate already. “You have a deal,” he said, sniping down another guard as he ran. “5.”

Widowmaker ran after him, tossing placing her venom mine at the post as more guards filled the inner courtyard. 3 of them lined themselves up nicely, one bullet taking care of all of them. Hanzo rolled his eyes, firing another trick arrow into the archway, taking out another 2 guards.

She had to give him credit, for some of the kills. He was quick and efficient, using the trick arrows only when he needed to. While he tried to move on the left hand side, she moved at the right. Each of his arrows found their mark, her bullet taking out the next guard.

They reached the temple itself, Reaper standing in the middle, 7 dead guards at his feet. “If you two are done comparing dick sizes, we can get the scrolls and get out of here,” he said pointing to the back room.

“As crass as ever,” Widowmaker remarked, rolling her eyes. Hanzo glared him, moving towards the back of the temple where the scrolls were hidden.

Widowmaker stood guard, helmet watching for any signs of movement. For a mercenary, Hanzo wasn’t the worst (Reaper was far more annoying). She could get used to having another sniper around. Maybe she’ll put in a word about him.

“It’s not here,” Hanzo said snapping her out of her reverie. In his hand was a feather, making him frown. “Overwatch has the scrolls.”

Reaper screamed, punching the wall beside him. “Call for extraction. Tell your bosses we’re done here.”

Widowmaker sighed, ears going to her ear piece immediately to call for extraction. Her bosses would not like this. Yet… “I count 9 kills.”

“11,” he replied, eyes not leaving the feather. “Not that it matters.”

“Au contraire, cherie,” Widowmaker said, fingers going to his jaw, lifting it slightly so she can gaze into his brown eyes. “A bet is a bet. I owe you dinner.”

His eyes moved down, his breath hitching as they came back up. “If you insist,” he said with a smirk. “How about a little French?”


End file.
